Put The Gun Down
by a-slightcatchoflightning
Summary: Based on Put The Gun Down - Andy Black (might wanna give it a listen?) TW:/ Suicide theme, Guns, Blood mention Words: 1,720


The pistol rose, fluorescent bar-light glinting off the barrel. He watched it; the barrel was a single shade of dull black, any identity long worn away from being passed through multiple generations. _It was heavy_ , he thought. _He couldn't hold it for long._

"Ah Dylan!" Noel caught up with his colleague as he turned the corner to the staffroom. "Would you put some change in the squirrel?" He proffered a charity collection box with a plastic squirrel screwed to the top.

"What's it for?" Dylan asked in a sarcastic tone.

"Wildlife protection!" Noel grinned at him.

"That's ridiculous Noel, we work for the NHS, not the Royal Horticultural Society; I'm on my break anyway"

Noel shrugged and sighed, spinning on his heel and surveying the waiting area for more people to pester as Dylam went the opposite way, taking a newspaper from the side as he entered the staffroom, before continuing on to the coffee machine.

Max crashed backwards against a cubicle, his eyes filling with hot tears that prickled and threatened to spill over, but he pushed them back.

Shakily, he stood and walked across to the mirrors, placing the gun with a quiet *clink* beside one of the sinks, before staring into his reflection.

No one would miss him once he was gone, he thought. Why would they? He was the irritating porter with greasy hair and a lazy streak, though he knew too well that wasn't the worst of it. Even his wife had left him to go to America, where no doubt she had a new husband. He couldn't really complain though…

Dylan glanced down at his watch and back at his coffee. He'd be back in minutes if he didn't waste time, and he'd still have ten minutes of his break left. Without further consideration, he grabbed a post-it from the dispenser to his left and scrawled a note, sticking it to his coffee cup and leaving the staffroom.

 _Property of Dylan Keogh._

Water dribbled down Max's face and he stood up straight again and watched the droplets trickle and run off his face into the sink and the space around it from his chin. Still, he could see nothing in his face. It really didn't make sense what he was doing here.

He tried to shield himself from his thoughts, but he couldn't help but wish the trails of water were actually blood, and then he imagined it.

His body would lie, cold and lifeless, face drowned in the same stuff he saw coating every person, every day as they were wheeled desperately into resus or walked into cubicles.

No one would bat an eye. He grabbed some paper towels and scrubbed at his face, irritating the skin with his vigour.

They saw death around them nearly every day. His eyes were bloodshot as he pulled the towel away.

Blood wouldn't make a difference, and there was a mop in the doorway. Only last week, Duffy had gone through three different sets of scrubs in a day due to the amount of different bodily substances that had come in contact with her clothing. Max couldn't imagine his death not just being overlooked.

Finally, Max dropped the balled up paper towels in the bin beside the sink and took one last look at himself, before wrapping his fingers around the holster of the gun.

The pistol rose, fluorescent bar-light glinting off the barrel. He watched it; the barrel was a single shade of dull black, any identity long worn away from being passed through multiple generations. _It was heavy_ , he thought. _He couldn't hold it for long._

The door swung open, making Max jump as he was suddenly torn from his thoughts, but still he slipped back into them.

Dylan froze in the doorway, running a hand recklessly through his cropped strawberry blonde hair, before taking a step towards Max, shock plastered across his face like a mask; Max's vision bore through Dylan, his eyes glassy as though he were looking to another world.

"Max…" Dylan's whisper filled the room, and Max shook his head in response, raising the gun a little higher so it was in his line of vision. Something inside Dylan broke then, and a gasp tore through his body as he fell to his knees in front of Max.

"Put the gun down! Just put the gun down… Dylan begged, the pain in his voice seemingly torturing the voices possessing Max's head – each echo of self-hatred caving in on itself at Dylan's pleas.

Max had never seen Dylan shed a tear before, but now he pulled himself from his mind for a moment, and did a double-take.

The gun hit the floor beside Dylan, who stood shakily, placing his palms on Max's shoulders gingerly.

"Wh-what d'you have to lose?" Dylan whispered, his eyes desperately trying to make contact with those of the other man. Max shuffled, still staring at the gun, but trembling under his colleague's hold slightly.

Max shook his head slightly and tears dripped down his face, but Dylan didn't ease his gaze.

"I-I don-"

"No Max, you do – there must be something in this world worth it; when things get bad, when you need to reach ou-" Dylan cut himself off and took a breath, "When you need to reach out… something to take, someone…" He paused at his own tirade to take in the situation again, but it did nothing to clear his mind.

"Why Maxie?" Dylan voice was that of a child's, and Max crumpled at his tone. He hadn't thought anyone would notice his death, let alone try to stop him and beg him to stay.

Dylan dropped to his knees with Max, not wanting to let go of him. Not wanting to lose him.

David wandered into the staffroom, now on his break, heading across to the coffee machine. As he went to take a cup from the cupboard, he saw one already on the surface, full to the top with steam still rising from it.

Surely no one would notice if he…

His hand brushed something and there was a soft flutter against his fingers. Jumping, he placed the cup back down on the surface, before chuckling to himself in noticing the sticky note now lying, slightly creased, beside the mug.

"Property of Dylan Keogh" He whispered as he read it, of course this would be Dylan's coffee – no one else would care so much as to write a note on it. Dylan smiled to himself again, before reaching for a different cup from the cupboard to make his own coffee.

Speaking of which, he thought, he could make it to the staff bathroom and back again in the time it took to make the coffee, just to check his hair over and splash a little water on his face; sixteen hour shifts were gruelling and you had to be on the ball all the time working in the ED.

Max's sobs were desperate as Dylan held him, and they leant up against the bottom of the sink unit together – Dylan with arms wrapped around Max's trembling form.

"I don't" Max sobbed, before turning and burying his head in Dylan's shoulder; the pain of the past six months cascaded from him and Dylan rubbed his back a little, still shocked by the situation.

He'd never imagined someone as carefree as Max could have such violent thoughts, let alone experience the self-hatred Dylan himself knew so well.

"Think of something you like" Dylan whispered in a manner he hoped was soothing – after all, his bedside manner generally consisted of being polite, but brisk. He didn't excel at the comforting side of things; Lofty had always been the best at that.

"I… like" Max hiccoughed, his voice thick with tears, "I like…"

"You can tell me" Dylan muttered, sub consciously running a hand through Max's hair.

Max shook his head.

"Say it" Dylan urged him, noticing how Max's sobs grew infrequent and he shuffled slightly, relaxing into Dylan's embrace slightly.

"Y-you… I like you, but I didn't think y-you'd care…" Mac trailed off, "Now you probably think I'm nuts" His gaze dropped to the linoleum again, and the tips of his ears went red.

"Max, that doesn't sound nuts at all" Suddenly, Dylan became aware of their hushed voices resounding in the bathroom, cubicle doors hanging half-open as though ears listening for their deepest secrets. He dropped the thought and instead focused on the back of Max's neck, "I care… I-" Dylan's voice cracked, "I love you Max…" He too looked down upon saying this, biting his lip into the silence.

The two men sat, listening and waiting for the other to speak, and Max, wiping his tears, decided to break the silence.

"I-it's mutual" His voice crept through the air, and finally they made eye contact; Dylan's glassy with emotion, and Max's bloodshot.

A loud crash resounded as David burst through the bathroom door and Dylan and Max sprung apart, Max possessing the initiative to kick the gun into the far cubicle, while Dylan stood quickly, before gazing dumbfounded at the cracks between the tiles of the ceiling.

David, however, had seen enough and he froe in the doorway, mouth agape.

"Were you two?" The anxious tone of his first day returned to him, "You two were…" He coughed and swallowed, "Your secret's safe with me… I-I'll come back later" He swallowed again, before spinning on his heel and leaving, the door swinging behind him a few times before finally closing with a bang.

Max couldn't help but choke out a laugh at David's reaction to their sudden, obvious movement, and once he started laughing, he couldn't stop. Dylan, unsure as to why Max was laughing, stood and stared for a few seconds, before laughing himself, but this time with relief.

Boldly, he stepped across to where Max slumped, nearly bent double with unexpected, almost manic laughter as more tears fell down his face – happy or sad he wasn't sure. As Dylan's arms closed around him, he realised: Dylan had broken all his boundaries today; he'd cried, and laughed, and hugged.

Maybe someone would care if he died…

His laughter cut off almost immediately, and he stood a little straighter, returning the hug.

"Thank you for stopping me".


End file.
